King And Jack Pair
by ShooBeans
Summary: A series of Hotch/Reid oneshots. Various ratings and warnings will apply.
1. Niche

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Criminal Minds related.  
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**Title:** Niche

**Rating: **K**  
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**Warnings: **Slash, pre-established Hotch/Reid

After making the Morgan/Reid oneshot set-thing-whatever, which is infinitely easier than posting each one individually, I decided that I might as well make one for Hotch/Reid because I write just as many oneshots for them. xD

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><p>To be honest, Spencer was used to it.<p>

He had always felt like the odd one out. He had always been estranged from every other person on the planet. He had always received those looks. He had always received those stares. He had always received a plethora of emotions ranging from admiration to utter loathing to sheer jealousy for what came so naturally to him. For things that Spencer really had little to no control over.

He had never been able to connect with someone. He had never been able to really talk to someone. He had never really ever been able to be well, _him_. Just him, as he was.

He was different. That was simply how the world worked.

He was different from his parents – Spencer would never, ever allow himself to be anything even remotely like his father. He was different from his peers – they had always been several years older, but despite that, they had never been on the same intellectual level as him. It was a conceded, egotistical thought that Reid didn't much care for but after a lifetime of people giving him baffled, bewildered looks as soon as he opened his mouth, he knew that it was the truth.

They just didn't understand him, but he was used to it. It was simply just how the world worked.

He was strange. Plain and simple.

People didn't like what was out of the norm, and Spencer had never been able to fit their perfect mold.

And for the longest time, he had been apologetic for the fact that he was so different. He had done nothing but utter apologies for not living up to their perceptions of how he should be. For the longest time, he had been so sure that it was _him_. That there was something wrong with _him_. That it was _his_ fault that the people around him bullied him, tormented him, hated him. That he forced them to do it. He had thought, _well, if only I was normal…_

He had tried to change. God, he had tried so hard his entire life to fit in. To blend into the crowd, fade into the background. He wanted normal. He wanted basic, simplistic. He tried being more conversational, he tried harder to pick up on social cues, he tried being nicer, he tried changing his appearance, he tried biting down any statistic and fact that threatened to spill forth… he tried everything he could think of.

He tried success. He tried failure.

But there was always someone that was standing there, shaking his or her head. Always someone to tell him that he didn't belong whether it was at the lunch table back in high school or amongst the other cadets for dinner at the academy. He was always left just standing there, by himself. He was always left to his own devices.

_Why mess with perfection?_ the words of his mother rang through his head over and over again.

This was perfection? A man that could recite every word of anything he had ever read, that could give you a statistic for any possible situation, that could rattle off the first few thousand digits of pi without thought, that could –

But none of that really matter because at the end of the day it was just him by himself.

He tried, he tried, he tried.

And nothing worked.

He just didn't fit into that picture of the white picket fence. He'd never fit in.

But that was before BAU; that was before he had found his family, his niche in life.

Oh sure, he was close to Morgan and Garcia and Prentiss and JJ and, hell, even Rossi, and sure, he did consider them family… but they weren't _his_ family. _His_ family was sitting right there in front of him, arguing over a mathematical story problem on Jack's homework.

"That's not how my teacher explained it!" the youngest Hotchner protested loudly, throwing down his pencil in a clearly defiant gesture. "You did it wrong!"

Hotch slowly set down his own pencil, sitting back against the chair as he gave his son a rather stern look. "Jack," he exclaimed with a hint of warning to his voice. But like his father, Jack didn't know how to back down, and he was completely immune to his father's glares that had been known to make many a grown man cry. Jack merely sat there, pursed lips, meeting his father's stare with one of his own. Neither showed even the faintest sign of backing down.

There was a moment of silence that passed between the two Hotchners before: "Reid," Hotch drew quietly at the same time Jack exclaimed a loud, "Spencer!" Both males promptly looked over towards the silent third party that had been minding his business up until this point.

Spencer audibly swallowed as he looked up at the two. "Uh, yes?" he asked somewhat meekly, his finger pausing on where he had left off in his book.

Their looks said it all however. Hotch's was a clear, _You have a degree in mathematics, don't you? Isn't there something you can do? _While Jack's was more of a, _Tell Daddy how wrong he is. Tell him that I'm right!_

Oh boy.

Slowly, however, Spencer managed a smile for the two most important males in his life. He leaned forward, eyes flickering over the paper to assess the problem and how to best explain it to the two Hotchners. Another glance towards the scratch paper, easily deciphering what had been Hotch's method in comparison to Jack's.

"Well, actually, you're both right," Reid began slowly.

"How can we both be right?" Hotch asked, arching a brow at his lover, but Jack merely let out a whine.

"Not you too Spence!" he exclaimed exasperated, clearly annoyed that Spencer would take the side of his father over him and his teacher.

"No, really," Spencer insisted gently, trying not to tread on anyone's feelings as clearly both males were taking this personal for some reason.

And when Spencer looked up, he was greeted with the usual baffled looks that had accompanied him his entire life, but he simply smiled because these weren't judgmental looks, these weren't malicious. At this moment, be didn't feel so different. He felt needed, useful and as he started into his explanation and Hotch reached under the table to gently take his hand and gave him an appreciative squeeze, he felt apart of something.

Apart of this family.

It was so simplistic. So basic. It was just homework. It was just sitting at a table, helping out with homework.

But as Jack murmured an 'aaahh' of understanding and Hotch's lips twitched up into a soft smile that Spencer had never seen Hotch give anyone but the two of them, Spencer knew that this moment was perfect. That this was all he could have ever wanted, that this was all he could ever want. So long as he belonged there at that dining room table with Aaron and Jack, he would never need to belong anywhere else ever again.

At that moment, he was just him. At that moment, he didn't need to apologize to anyone because they saw him and they loved him, and that was more than enough.

Spencer would never feel strange again.


	2. But Still

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Criminal Minds related.  
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**Title:** But Still.

**Rating: PG13 for Hotch's potty-mouth.****  
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**Warnings: **Slash, jealous and grumpy Hotch.

**Prompt: **For Criminal Minds Kink Meme IV on LJ:

_Aaron becomes so insanely jealous over Reid that he outs them to the team right in the middle of a case. "He is mine, would u keep your fucking hands off of him"_

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><p>Sometimes, Aaron really loathed Derek Morgan.<p>

Not disliked. Not even hated.

_Loathed._

There was no other word to describe the feeling coursing through Aaron.

It was simplistic, primitive, the most nature thing in this situation really: shear loathing.

And sometimes… sometimes, he wanted nothing more then to put his fist through that smug looking, too damn white -toothed smile. Wanted to take his baton to the other's spine and maybe even the femur. Why the femur? Because he damn well could, that's why.

"Hotch, have you seen the latest ME report?" Dave inquired and he came up along side of the unit chief, passing said folder off. Though Aaron accepted the file, his attention remained… elsewhere. "Our latest victim was strangled—"

Truthfully, Morgan was an exceptionally likeable guy. Really, he was. He was loyal to a fault, brave in a never unwavering manner, graciously kind and always more than willing to be there for anyone in need, honest enough to tell you the hard things while never making you feel inferior or incompetent, selfless in the sense that he would give you the shirt right off his back (_if only to display those damn muscles, _Hotch couldn't help but add bitterly), and fuck if he wasn't absolutely breathtakingly attractive.

You know, if you went for that sort of thing.

That overzealous muscle totting, beautiful dark skinned – what was the name Garcia used? Adonis?

Yeah. Who would want an Adonis?

Certainly not Spencer. Spencer had absolutely no interest in Morgan or so the youngest profiler insisted time after time whenever Aaron got into his Morgan-loathing moods.

But the way that Spencer looked at Morgan, talked about Morgan, as if he were God's gift to woman and man alike –

"Are you listening Hotch?"

"Of course Dave. I was just thinking that these wound patterns don't match the last," Aaron replied easily enough, his gaze rising to meet that of his best friend's. The comment was enough to appease Dave for the moment, the older profiler starting in on his theory.

Alright, sure, Morgan was absolutely essential to Aaron's team. Morgan's profiling skills were above top notch, he always came through no matter what, again the whole bravery and chivalry thing came into play, his door kicking skills were rivaled by none… the list just went on and on.

And on most days, Aaron could tolerate said list. He was even thankful of it. Again, _essential, _he reminded himself because he really needed to remember.

"Oh, is that the ME report?" Prentiss inquired as she came up to the two males, peering over Aaron's shoulder to get a look, but Aaron was really no longer paying attention.

But on days like these? Days when Morgan was just too damn perfect and was moving in on Aaron's territory?

Aaron was grinding his teeth down and it was taking every last bit of his willpower to not lose his cool, to maintain his usually perfect composure. After all, it wasn't as if they had exactly told the team about them…

_But still._

And Spencer? Aaron wanted to be upset with Spencer for encouraging Morgan, he really wanted to be; he wanted Spencer to yell at Morgan that he was taken, he wanted Spencer to coldly inform Morgan in that ruthlessly calculating manner he sometimes slipped into just how inappropriate Morgan was being, how he was crossing that well drawn line of friendship.

But how could he be upset? Spencer was oblivious. He was _always _fucking oblivious to Morgan's passes. He just didn't realize, he never did, even when it wasn't Morgan – hell, Aaron had had to spell it out for the genius at first as well.

But Spencer really wasn't helping Hotch's current mood.

"—that's why I think that our unsub might work as a currier or some form, but I don't think that it would be a postal system because—" Dave continued talking while Aaron pretended to read the case file in hand.

Spencer just sat there at some random officer's desk, eating lunch with Morgan. Chinese takeout, courtesy of Morgan naturally because Morgan apparently felt that his chivalrous nature needed to extend to Aaron's lover, whom, Aaron would like to point out, was amply well taken care of because hell would freeze over before Aaron _didn't _provide for his family.

And Morgan was teasing Spencer about the fork, refusing to give one to Spencer, saying that the only way he was going to learn to use chopsticks was to just use them and Spencer was getting red in the face and sputtered out statistics, and the more Spencer blushed, the more Aaron felt his temper rise.

"Pretty Boy," Morgan drew in that all too sultry voice that made many a woman swoon and part their legs.

God, did Aaron ever mention just how much he loathed that nickname? Over his dead body would Spencer ever be Morgan's _pretty_ _boy. _Spencer was his, and Spencer had the love bite on his ass to prove it.

But Morgan, seemingly oblivious himself, continued on his merry way. He leaned over, affectionately ruffling Spencer's hair, commenting, "Come on Pretty Boy, they're _easy_. Just try."

"Yeah, that's what you guys said last time and we all saw how well that worked out," Spencer half huffed, half whined. "Come on Morgan – I'm _hungry_."

And Aaron really didn't care for the smirk that graced Morgan's face. It was far too smug for his taste.

Morgan leaned just a hair closer to Spencer and promptly picked up a piece of General Tso's chicken with his own chopsticks, holding it out for Spencer to eat. "Then I'll just have to feed you because you're not getting a fork, kid."

And that was the end of it.

Aaron couldn't contain himself.

Before he knew it, he was striding across the foreign bullpen, stopping just short of the desk. Both males eyed Aaron with confusion, Morgan starting, "What's up Hot—" but before he could get anymore out, Aaron had entangled his hand within Spencer's brown locks and yanked the younger male's head back. He crushed their lips together in a forceful, demanding kiss, ignoring the surprised squeak that Spencer let out, but as Aaron pushed his tongue into Spencer's sinful mouth, remapping every last inch that he knew so well for the entire building to see, Spencer's eyes slid closed, the younger male moaning as he arched up against his boss. Spencer curled an arm around Aaron, pulling the older male against his still seated form all the more, whining desperately into the kiss.

It was only when both of their oxygen levels were dangerously close to being depleted that Aaron pulled back, the still rather lethal look embedded on his face though now there was a hint of satisfaction as he eyed Spencer's faintly swollen lips, Spencer's breathless state, his slightly hazy eyes as he stared up at Aaron.

With his hand still holding onto Spencer's hair tightly, Aaron tossed the stunned Morgan a venomous look, snapping a, "He is mine. Would you keep your fucking hands off of him?"

And with that, Aaron promptly abandoned the report in front of Morgan, released Spencer's hair in favor of grabbing the younger male's arm, and practically dragged the genius from the room with every intention of proving just how true his statement was.


End file.
